Undercover Warrior
by lexie2
Summary: Sometimes a warrior has to lie down and wait for the perfect moment to rise and strike back. Season 9 "Warrior" with a twist .CHLEX


**SUMMARY:** Sometimes a warrior has to lie down and wait for the perfect moment to rise and strike back.

**AUTHOR**: Lexie

**RATING:** PG-13

**PAIRING:** Chlex

**SPOILERS:** Roulette, Warrior

**A/N:** here's my own personal spin on Warrior – an attempt to fix the ending, which I found so disappointing.

Thanks to Rocío aka purplemoon123 for coming up with this gorgeous banner after reading this fic.

UNDERCOVER WARRIOR

He's learnt to be patient. He's given her time and space, seen her become more and more isolated to the point that her only connection to the real world is through the eye of a camera. She's turned into a recluse obsessed with having the control of the game and the pieces on the board. In many ways, she's become what she proclaims to hate the most in this world- him.

He's looked forward to this moment for over a year now. Hanging on the fringes, playing his part and waiting for the perfect moment to strike, hating the wrappings he's been forced to don in order to accomplish his goal. It's been the only way to be close to her, a necessary evil to get him what she would never give him willingly.

He looks at the man who has been his nemesis since his childhood through the one-way mirror of the 33.1 padded cell which has been the former hero's house for months now. He clenches his teeth and hopes his carefully designed plan works to stop seeing that face in the looking-glass every day he wakes up.

Leaving breadcrumbs to lead Zatara's daughter to his lair and have her perform her magic for him twice cost Lex her family's Book of Spells- on which he'd spent a fortune-but earned him an ally worth having in his ranks. She's managed to get Clark's trust and play the role he's assigned her at _Metropolis Wonder Con _to perfection and Lex's childhood comic hero will pave the way to have Chloe where he wants.

He's picked the comic book personally out of his vast and expensive collection. The plot of the special and rare issue is just what she'd fall for, it's too close to the reality she'd like to live in forever not to. He'll give her her hero- the substitute Clark Kent she'll never have- let her enjoy the illusion for a short while, let her deceive herself that a sidekick's all that she's ever meant to be. And then, he'll break her only to build her up again.

For a minute there he's tempted to open the old comic and test Zatanna's spell on himself, feel the exhilaration of being embraced and accepted, of flying and breaking the chains that have tied him since the day of his conception. But the wish is short-lived, he's always meant to be Devilicus in the eyes of the world and he's no longer naïve enough to believe his efforts to change that preconception will make a difference now. The dice have been thrown and the only thing left for him to do is to sit back and be once again a spectator; his role as an active player will come soon enough.

By this time now the show must have already begun. He unlocks the glass-panelled double door of her Watchtower with the key she gave him last week after her heart-to-heart talk with John Jones and their outing to give her a taste of life- the one she sacrificed long before her marriage to the boy went downhill. He steps inside carrying the equipment he's decided to leave here, another move to make his presence in her life more permanent; he wishes it were something truly his but that will come next- maybe a dress shirt, a pair of Italian shoes and a change of underwear.

Brushing up his rusty archery skills has taken him hours of practice and unbearable pain. He's tested his abused body's endurance bringing it to the limit and rising victorious- he's never appreciated his being a meteor freak more than he does now. There are times when his darkness surfaces, when he feels she might end up beating him and slipping through his fingers and then, she surprises him bringing him back from the brink, back from the abyss that he finds so alluring on his bad days. Sometimes he wonders if she doesn't know, if she hasn't seen through this new mask he's been wearing.

He grabs the bottle of vintage bourbon and pours himself a tumbler. He takes a big gulp and closes his eyes to feel the alcohol warm the sinews and muscles he's trapped in, hoping it reaches the man that is inside, wishing it could silence that little voice he still hears from time to time, the voice that makes him weak, that renders him vulnerable to the arrows this world seems to be determined to throw his way. He opens his eyes again and focuses on the stained-glass window in front of him, a veiled vision of the city that is still his thanks to the merger he manoeuvred using Tess Mercer's former affair with the archer as bait. The world doesn't know he's never left the helm of his empire, not even the red-haired woman who's living in his place at the mansion and sitting in his chair at the head of LuthorCorp Board playing games she isn't equipped to win.

He leaves the tumbler on the coffee table and removes an arrow from the quiver- it's green like the meteor rocks which sealed his destiny and hers, green like her emerald eyes. He takes the compound bow, checks the tension of the bowstring, nocks the arrow and shoots it at the target standing in front of him. It hits the bull's eye at the exact moment the double doors open and she comes in wearing the colour that looks best on her- he likes seeing her in her Luthorian purples but loves her in green.

"Slow night? " she asks with a wry smile as she comes closer to him.

"Figured I'd squeeze in some target practice... and a single malt," he replies, taking a new arrow.

"Did you bring enough for the rest of the class? " she responds, walking past him on her way to the sofa.

"Help yourself, professor. You're running a little low on allegory tonight. Bumpy day? " he says with a smile, wondering if she misses having someone at her level to spar with.

"Not the smoothest. Someone asked me, when the last time I had a good time was, and I didn't have an answer," she sighs, pouring herself a drink and taking a couple of sips.

"I don't think anyone can fault you for being on the edge, Chloe. Hell, if anyone can relate it's me. I get it," he tells her, seeing her taste the best bourbon of Lex Luthor's cellar.

"Yeah, you can," she agrees with a tired smile, looking at his lean frame poised to shoot again.

"You know... sometimes you've got to take your fun where you can get it," he tells her, playing the card he's been holding close to his chest for months." And sometimes... it's right in front of your face. You just have to want to see it. Come on," he adds for good measure, turning his face to lock his eyes with hers and schooling his features to hide the feeling of trepidation which seizes him now that the prey is a step away from falling into his trap.

Chloe smiles a conspiratorial grin and, leaving the half empty tumbler on the coffee table, approaches him. He hands her the bow and places himself behind her to help her nock the arrow and aim. Having her in the circle of his arms, even if it isn't the way he's always imagined it would be like the first time, is enough to forget for just a while that she believes him to be the man who made his life at Excelsior a living hell.

"How do I know when to let go? " she murmurs slightly breathless.

"It's all about your heart. Just listen. Right there in between the beats. That's when you let go," he whispers into her ear as he covers her right hand with his and helps her tense the bowstring before making the shot.

Bull`s eye.

By the time she finds out the truth, that there is no Oliver Queen in her world, that there has never been one since the League's trip to the Arctic, it'll be too late. She'll be too tied to him and will have to accept what he's known for a very long time- no one will ever understand them better than themselves.

THE END

**A/N 2:**The dialogue has been taken verbatim from "Warrior" (9x12)


End file.
